Reviews

In dramatizing a real-life hostage crisis from 1977, Gus Van Sant teases out enticing themes that remain undeveloped.

Lex Yard, in the newly restored hotel, tries for maximalist seasonal cooking creative enough to draw in finicky locals and anodyne enough to satisfy an international clientele.

Far from being a journalistic relic, as suggested by recent developments at the New York Times, arts criticism is inherently progressive, keeping art honest and pointing toward its future.

The festival served up its richest edition in years, with multiple standouts among the twenty-two films in contention for the Palme d’Or.

The country singer presents himself like some guy you ran into at Home Depot. But he may be the most commercially successful musician of his era.

The new season of Nathan Fielder’s HBO series takes a bold conceptual leap—and, with Sunday night’s episode, it went from an assemblage of stunts to a work of art.

Vauhini Vara consulted ChatGPT to help craft her new book, “Searches.” But the most moving sections are the ones she wrote herself.

Scorned by critics on its release, in 1999, Alan Rudolph’s Kurt Vonnegut adaptation now emerges as an inspired comic extravaganza, whose very originality was its undoing.

The New Yorker writers Richard Brody and Justin Chang talk with the senior editor Leo Carey about how they became film critics and what goes into a movie review.

With a style as daring as his narrative sense, Rob Tregenza dramatizes the moral dilemmas of Norwegians under Nazi occupation.

Marielle Heller’s adaptation of Rachel Yoder’s novel, starring Amy Adams, omits most of the protagonist’s inner life and shrinks the outer life, too.

Despite Angelina Jolie’s passionate performance, this sensationalized story of Maria Callas’s last days neglects the diva’s true art.

In Jesse Eisenberg’s film, a shticky bromance obscures a thoughtful attempt to probe the legacy of the Holocaust.

Bridgett M. Davis’s 1996 drama centers the art of movies on the legacy and the experiences of Black actresses.

In the age of Goodreads and Letterboxd, with nearly every aspect of the cultural landscape up for review by professional writers and superfans alike, The New Yorker’s critics consider their vocation—and why it matters.

Blitz Bazawule’s second feature catches the novel and musical’s extremes of sorrow and joy, love and memory.

The new wrestling movie “Iron Claw” follows a band of sorrow-haunted brothers. But it’s Efron’s body that best telegraphs pain.

The duo’s onscreen sparring, far from being a sideshow, foregrounded the inextricably personal nature of reviewing.

A flimsy high-school comedy provides just enough of a vehicle for a generation-defining cast.

New films of extraordinary artistry are being pushed to the margins of the industry.